


Don't Be Cruel

by maccabby



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: AU, Angst, Brief Non-Con, Early Beatles, M/M, McLennon, Period-Typical Homophobia, teddy boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-26 17:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20933804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccabby/pseuds/maccabby
Summary: AU of choir boy Paul getting mixed up with Teddy Boy John and his crew. Violence and angst ensue. Paul becomes enamored with John's mystery, and as John starts falling for the pretty boy he doesn't really know how to handle it. Brief start of non-con but not graphicCompletely fictional work, not at all meant for defamation or libel





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this is my first official fic I've ever written, I hope you enjoy it ;u;/ Going to try to update very frequently and see where it takes me  
If you want to give me any tips or suggestions on more stuff to write hit me up on tumblr (@macca-bby)

This week was going to be his last week of freedom. Paul’s father told him that starting the following week, his younger brother would be accompanying him to his choir rehearsals. He had grown to like having his own portion of free time during the day on his walks from the church, taking detours that brought him all over town. Sometimes he would stop to throw stones into the river or sit under the huge trees whose leaves had begun changing to their warm, autumn colors. The constant breeze and gentle nip in the air was the perfect weather to indulge in. But soon he would have to worry about a second person, and not just any second person: his small, naïve, mostly intolerable younger brother who didn’t want to go to choir rehearsals anyway. He wouldn’t be able to roam as he pleased anymore; his brother tended to not keep his mouth shut, and their father would likely have a fit were he to find out they weren’t coming straight home.

  
As Paul slid on his jacket, he waved goodbye to the small group of other choir boys he spoke with during the lulls in rehearsals. He wouldn’t necessarily regard them as friends; the only reason he really talked to them was because there was nobody else to talk to. Next to where the jacket had been lay his acoustic guitar in its cloth case. It wasn’t often that he was asked to play it, but he always brought it just in case. He slung the strap over his shoulder and made his way down the pew.

  
When he pushed open the double-doored entrance to the church, a rush of crisp breeze smacked him in the face. An involuntary smile grew, and he made his way down the church stairs at a brisk pace. His eye caught a small path that he had yet to travel, piquing his interest. Brushing some loose hairs out of his face he started off on it, slowing himself to a walk. The narrow walkway was lined with trees with thin trunks, but the foliage of leaves atop them was almost thick enough to hide the tall wall of the church. The further down the path he went, the fewer trees he saw, until there were no trees in sight. All around him were old, mostly torn up buildings. A few stood tall, but their walls were thin and brittle, as though they could collapse from a small push. He hadn’t noticed that he stopped walking until a few moments passed, and he snapped back to reality. He only took a few steps before stopping again at the faint sound of breaking glass. He whipped his head around to all sides of him, but everything around him seemed untouched. After a few seconds of hesitation, he started again. Part of him considered turning back and finding a familiar way home, but he quickly pushed the thought away. He was 17 now, he could handle himself just fine. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the crash of more glass, but this time it was much louder, accompanied by a few whoops and hollers. Curiosity got the better of him as he walked off the path toward the source of the sound, weaving through a few buildings before stopping next to a mostly broken window, glass shattered in pieces down at his feet. He leaned forward just enough to peer through the hole. A group of 5 boys seemingly his age surrounded a small fire, each holding a cigarette and some holding a bottle in their other hand. They were all laughing, two of them play fighting while the others watched. There was a boy who stood out, though. Strong light brown eyes, roughed up hair, a jacket that seemed new at a distance but the longer you looked at it, the more small tears and patches you saw. He radiated energy like nobody else in that room. Paul had never seen him before in his life, but something about him drew him in. Although he didn’t know this person, he could always tell when someone had more depth. The most interesting people always had the most secrets.

Paul’s train of thought crashed along the tracks as the boy’s piercing gaze met his own. He was frozen in place, eyes wide with panic. A few very long seconds had passed as they held eye contact before the boy exclaimed something to him, which made everyone else in the room stop what they were doing. They all looked to the window, and Paul’s legs finally regained their structure as he bolted. The narrow passage between the old buildings had been easy when he was slow and careful, but now he was struggling to keep a quick pace, trying to make as many turns as he could to throw them off. It didn’t seem to help, though, as he heard their voices bouncing off the walls all around him. He skid to a stop as a boy appeared in front of him seemingly out of nowhere. Paul began to back up, two more appearing at his sides until his back collided with a chest. He felt a grip tighten on his shirt collar from behind, holding him in place. He struggled a bit, laughter erupting around him until the fifth boy appeared, his light brown eyes fixated on Paul’s as he crept closer. Paul felt himself grow still, staring back.

  
“What’s a strappy ol choir boy doing in a place like this?” He sneered, looking Paul up and down as he neared, finally stopping only inches from him.

  
“Maybe he’s lost?” Another boy said, a fake look of concern on his face.

  
“What should we do with him, John?” The boy holding onto Paul’s shirt tightened his grip a bit.

  
_John_. The name washed through Paul’s mind like a tidal wave.

  
John looked him over again, pausing for a moment as something caught his eye.  
“What’s that on his back, there?”

  
As the strap was pulled from his shoulder, Paul was finally shaken back to reality.  
“Wait-“

  
“Oh, he’s a talker?” John exclaimed, taking the case and eyeing it. “I don’t remember the church being ones for guitars.”

  
“Me neither,” another boy piped in.

  
John unzipped the case and pulled the guitar out, tossing the case to the side. He slung the strap over his back and pulled a pick out of his back pocket, lightly plucking at the strings.

  
“Hey!” Paul shouted, slamming his elbow back into the boy holding onto him. The boy’s grip loosened for a moment as he groaned, but the two other boys at his sides intercepted him before he could get to John, holding his arms behind him. John glanced up at him and smirked.

  
“What? Worried I’ll break it?” He continued plucking at it, shaping out a few chords. “This is a nice one.”

  
“Must be a rich kid…” A boy muttered.

  
“I think I’ll keep it!” John proclaimed, pulling the strap off and holding it out, gazing over it.

  
“_What?_ Give it back!” Paul growled, his anger beginning to boil over. He kicked hard against the shin of the boy at his left, tugging to pull his arms free. Suddenly a knee collided with his stomach, the wind leaving him so fast he couldn’t even remember having it in the first place. As he struggled to regain his breath, John was in front of him, their noses a breath away from colliding. His gaze stabbed into him; a hand ruptured through his rib cage and gripping onto his heart as though it intended to squeeze the life out of it. He smelt of cigarettes, beer, and old cologne. Paul could only stare back, his breath caught in his throat.

  
“Either I take it, or we beat your arse with it,” John’s tone was dark, just above a whisper. He glanced across Paul’s face for a moment. “You’ve got some pretty eyelashes. If your hair was longer, I’d have thought you were a bird.”

  
The other boys laughed around him. Paul’s eye twitched in frustration, pulling himself from the fog. He launched his foot up, cracking it against John’s crotch. John shouted in surprise, back pedaling a bit as he leaned over in pain. The next thing he knew, Paul was on his back, his head slamming against the pavement under him. As he struggled to blink away the dizziness, a fist collided with his nose. He only saw black for a few seconds, and as his vision returned, he saw two boys standing above him. The other two were holding him on the ground as John walked over, his eyes dangerous.  
“You’ve got a fire in ya. I like that,” John grinned before smashing his fist into Paul’s eye. Paul yelped, struggling to pull out of their grip and turning his head away, eyes closed tight in pain.  
“You’re gonna regret that stunt-“ John began, but was cut off as faint sirens began to blare. All five of them froze in place, looking at each other. A wave of relief washed over Paul as the grip on him was released, the boys running in every direction. John started to run off but stopped, glancing back at Paul. Paul met his gaze, his eye already beginning to swell shut.

  
“You’d do well not to come back,” John warned. He tilted the guitar toward him and winked before running off after the others. Paul let out a groan and dropped his head back against the ground, closing his eyes. He lay there for a moment, hearing the sirens grow louder before fading to silence.

  
False alarm.

  
He forced himself back onto his feet, walking over and picking up the empty guitar case. He tucked it under his arm and making his way back to the road leading home.

  
_

  
The road Paul took home was the road his family took to church every Sunday. It was a straight shot to his house, constantly alight by streetlamps and very much in the open. As he closed the gate behind him, he paused. He had only just begun to feel the throb of his nose and eye when he was halfway home and had no idea how it looked. Tucking his chin and keeping his gaze low, he stepped into the house as quietly as possible, slowly closing the door in hopes that the click of the knob would be silent. When he heard no one, he practically sprinted to the stairs and made it halfway up.

“James!”

  
Paul froze in place, his hand gripping the rail so tightly his knuckles turned white. He kept his back to his father, who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen close to the stairs.

  
“What took you so long tonight? You’re usually here by 5.”

  
“Oh, I uh… Stopped at the store to pick something up…”

  
“Ah, I see. Where is your guitar?”

  
“It’s, um…” Paul swallowed. “I left it home today, didn’t even bring it with me.”

  
“Then what’s under your arm? And why are you talking with your back to me? Turn around, son.”

  
Paul closed his eyes and hesitated. He tried his best to think up a plausible explanation that gave nothing away, but his mind fell short. He slowly turned around, keeping his head low in hopes that most of it would be hidden.

  
“Christ, Paul, what happened to your eye?!” Jim exclaimed. Realizing it would be better for him to see it all right away, he lifted his chin up and met his father’s gaze.

  
“And your nose! Bloody hell, you look like you’re bleedin out! Sit on the couch,” he commanded, briskly making his way to the bathroom. Paul sighed and walked back down the stairs, sitting on the couch nearby. He let the empty guitar case slide from his grip and relax on the ground. If he couldn’t hide his kicked ass from his father, it would be a miracle to hide the truth about his guitar. But if he found out about that, he would be bleeding out within the next hour from his dad’s rage.

  
Jim came back with a wet cloth and an ice pack, kneeling in front of him.  
“Hold this on your eye,” he handed the ice pack to him. “Now what the hell happened?”

  
“People on me way home,” Paul said quietly, wincing as his dad tended to his nose. “They didn’t want nothing, just didn’t like me, I suppose.”

  
“What kind of people kicked your arse in broad daylight?”

  
“I didn’t come the usual way home, I tried coming another way,” Paul admitted. “A more scenic route, I guess.”

  
Jim sighed, lowering the cloth and looking up at him. “What have I told ya about wandering off on your way home?”

  
“I know, I just-“

  
“Is that what happened to your guitar?” Jim suddenly asked, and Paul could feel the anger start to rise.

  
“No! That part is true, I left it here today…”

  
Jim eyed him suspiciously.

  
“I did, honest…” Paul pleaded, doing his best to sell it. Jim hesitated before giving a final sigh, standing up and bringing the towel back to the bathroom.

  
“You’ll probably have that shiner for a good couple of days. Keep icin’ it until the bruise starts to go away,” Jim walked into the kitchen and came back with a cup of tea, handing it to him. Paul took it, noticing the lack of warmth. He must have made it for him a while ago so it was ready when he was supposed to be home.  
“From now on, you take one way to the church, and one way back. Understood? Pretty soon you’ll have more than yourself to worry about,” Jim finished, taking his newspaper off the table and heading upstairs.

  
“Yessir…” Paul half mumbled, looking down into the cup. He heard his father’s bedroom door close, and his body fully relaxed. Setting the cup aside, he made his way to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he could see how swollen his nose was and could only imagine what it looked like when it was covered in blood. He hesitated before pulling the icepack from his eye and he winced at the sight. Deep, dark purple, the edges twisting off in hues of blue and green. John had socked him good, alright. Paul felt a twist of anger curl in his gut. His father was likely going to check up with him about his guitar tomorrow, and if he didn’t have it, he would be whipped for sure. He was going to have to get it back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for such an amazing response to the first chapter, I was so nervous. Enjoy the next chapter! Lots of angst and tension ;D

It only took the first few rays of sunlight hitting Paul’s face to wake him up. He hadn’t slept much last night, anyway. Apart from his face throbbing, he was anxious all night coming up with a plan to get his guitar back while not getting his shit kicked in for a second time. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and got ready for the day faster than he had ever gotten ready in his life. By the time he made it to the bottom of the stairs, he was almost winded.

  
“Where are you going..?” A soft voice spoke from the couch. His younger brother Mike was awake, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a hot cup of tea in his hands. Paul couldn’t stop the gentle smile from growing on his face. As intolerable as his brother was, he had his moments when he was just a cute, soft-spoken kid. He usually had to be sick for that, though.

  
“Sick again, Mikey?” Paul asked as he crouched in front of him, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

  
“Yeah… I thought you didn’t have rehearsal today?”

  
“I don’t. I’m meeting with a few of the kids from the choir to go over some things,” Paul lied, smiling up at him. Mike looked at him for a moment before closing his eyes, too tired to doubt.

“How long will you be gone..?”

  
“A few hours tops, promise,” Paul stood and ruffled Mike’s hair gently, heading for the door. “I’ll be back in time to make you a new cup of tea.”

  
A weak smile grazed Mike’s face. “Okay…”

  
_

  
Finding his way back was easy, but something felt off. Perhaps it was the lack of wonder for an unknown place replaced by anger and frustration that made Paul feel different about all these torn down buildings. His plan was banking on a few coincidences. Whose to say John didn’t bring the guitar back to his own house when he ran away yesterday? Would he really leave it in their decrepit building? How early in the morning did these fools get together?  
Paul stopped in front of a familiar pile of glass on the ground. He took a deep breath and very slowly peered into the hole. The small fire that had been in the middle of the room was burnt out, and the room itself seemed empty. Paul moved a bit closer and took another look around. He saw the rest of the large first floor room, covered in mostly torn wallpaper and extremely dusty furniture. _This looks like a fire hazard…_ It looked completely empty. A small staircase at the far corner caught his eye, and he took a moment to close his eyes and listen. The only sounds around him were the few morning birds singing softly, the autumn breeze curling around every tree leaf, and the people awake for work downtown. After a few more seconds, he reopened his eyes. He was clear.  
He circled the building until he found the door; it was completely rotted and no longer latched in the doorway; it freely swung inward and outward wherever the breeze pulled it. Paul hesitated to grab the knob but eventually brushed his away, taking hold of it and pushing in. He had been mocked yesterday for being a posh choir boy, and he liked to think that he didn’t fit the stereotype, whether it was true or not. When he entered, he noticed that the ceiling was much higher than he expected. Although he was in a small house, its ceiling made it feel twice its size. He noticed the empty beer bottles and cigarette butts lining the old fire, then the piles of bottles and empty packs in the corner. As far as he knew, this was typical teddy boy scene, a lifestyle that he had been close to entering until his father made him join the boys’ choir. For a minute he wondered if he had gone down that path instead, if he would have met John. He shook his head a little kept looking. The first floor didn’t seem to have many nooks or crannies, none that a guitar would fit in anyway. He took one last sweeping glance before walking to the staircase. With each step, Paul expected his feet to break through the old wood.  
The second floor was much smaller, and the ceiling was much closer to the ground. There was a window in the middle of the far wall, casting light across the entire room. More cigarette butts and empty packs were littered along the floor, but they accompanied a few newspapers, and candles sat in the center. Paul’s eye caught the sides of the room lined with bookcases and cabinets. He shot to the closest one and tore through it; empty. He tore through a few more; all empty as well. He crouched in front of the last cabinet in the far corner. While the others were all covered in dust, this one seemed like it was kept tidy. When he opened it, papers fell onto the floor around him. He pushed away the last few and was flooded with relief; the guitar lay seemingly untouched at the bottom. He picked it up by the neck and looked it over. Not even John’s strumming the day before could be detected on it. Paul gave a shaky sigh, pulling the cloth case from his inner jacket pocket and sliding the guitar in. As he zipped it up, a few of the papers on the ground caught his eye. Picking one up, he saw what almost looked like poetry, accompanied with different numbers on the sides.

_I have a little budgie_   
_ He is my very pal_   
_ I take him walks in Britain_   
_ I hope I always shall._

Paul flipped through more and more pages, most containing gibberish or words scratched out, all covered in various numbers sanctioned into 6 columns. In the bottom corner of every page, two letters stood out:

  
_JL_

  
Paul paused before pulling his guitar back out. He glanced over the numbers before lining them up with frets. Expecting nothing, he strummed. To his surprise, a perfect chord rang out, and realization hit him.  
This is all tab.  
Paul dug through a few more sheets and plucked the numbers. All chords. The sheer surprise and wonder that ran in Paul’s mind distracted him from that fact that he was still in this fucking building. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he got there, and he could have company at any moment. He practically threw his guitar back in the case, the papers flying all over the room. A few slipped into his case as he zipped it up, and his heart sank as he heard footsteps. He glanced out the window, contemplating jumping, but the second floor was too high up for him to jump without hurting himself again and would most likely smash the guitar to pieces. The stairs creaked behind him, and Paul squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for the storm about to hit.  
The squeaking stairs were followed by silence. Paul felt eyes burning into the back of his head. Then he heard a laugh.

  
“A sneaky bugger, aren’t ya?” It was John’s voice. Part of that fact made Paul feel relief, and another made his stomach twist.  
Slow footsteps made their way toward him, and Paul heard a lighter flick on and off.

  
“You’ve made a mess of me cupboard,” John sighed, taking a long drag off his fresh cigarette and blowing the smoke toward him. “You’re just causing more trouble for yerself.”

  
Paul rose to his feet, holding the strap of the guitar case tight around his shoulder. He turned and met John’s gaze. He was wearing mostly the same clothes he wore yesterday, besides a different shirt. His hair was still messy, but it was purposefully messy. Although Paul could tell John had woken up not that long ago, his eyes were still strong. John laughed again.

  
“Fucked up your face pretty good.”

  
“I’m taking this back,” Paul stated, raising his chin a bit. Even though he was no longer in his choir boy uniform, he knew that his small stature and feminine features didn’t give him much to work with intimidation wise. So he tried his best.

  
“Oh? That so?” John replied, taking a last drag before lowering his hand to his side. “Where ya headin’?”

  
“Down the stairs,” Paul swallowed. He could feel the electricity in the room.

  
John walked toward him, his gaze unwavering. He stopped a few inches away, lifting his chin back at him, his voice no more than a whisper. “I’d love to see you try, bird.”

  
Paul shot his arms forward and shoved John away with all his might. John fell onto his back, keeping the cigarette tight in his fingers. He made his way to the stairs, but John reached out and snagged his ankle, yanking him to the floor. Paul felt the guitar case pulled from him and heard it tossed to the side.

  
“Wouldn’t want to damage the goods, eh?”

  
John flipped him onto his back. He pulled down Paul’s shirt collar and pressed the still lit cigarette into his collarbone. Paul yelped and kicked up into his gut, sending John onto his ass. Paul climbed on top of him and cracked his fist again his nose. John growled and grabbed Paul by the shoulders, rolling him off and slamming him onto his back. His right hand tightened around Paul’s neck, and they both stilled for a moment, catching their breath. Paul’s hands grabbed John’s wrist, his breathing becoming shallow. He looked up and met John’s gaze, seeing the dangerous flare in his eyes that he saw the day before. Blood began to run from John’s nose, and he wiped it away with his free hand.

  
“Any last words, pretty boy?” John sneered, tightening his grip.

  
“I… can help you…” Paul struggled to get out, his vision threatening to go dark.

  
John looked at him quizzically. “With what?”

  
“Music… All that’s yours… isn’t it..?” Paul asked, looking toward the cabinet cluttered with papers. John followed his gaze before turning back to him. “I saw.. your tab… I can help…”

  
John paused for a moment, searching Paul’s eyes. Their hazel hue was stark against the long, dark lashes. He felt something in his chest tug at him, and he loosened his grip on his neck a little, keeping his hand there. Paul gasped for air and closed his eyes, coughing at the new oxygen. His body relaxed a bit, and he took a few deep breaths before reopening his eyes, meeting John’s gaze again.

  
“I write music too. There are easier ways to write chords,” Paul explained.

  
“How do I know you aren’t lying?” John snarled, his eyes dark.

  
“If I’m lying, you can beat the shit out of me,” Paul sighed, “and take my guitar.”

  
John waited before getting off him, walking to the cabinet. He grabbed a sheet of paper covered in numbers and brought it back to him with a pencil. Paul took it and scanned over the tab, writing out the chords next to them. He lifted the paper to him.

  
“This is how you write them,” he smiled hesitantly.

  
John looked it over, reading his own writing before reading Paul’s. The difference between their handwriting was almost night and day. He noticed the small lettering Paul wrote that replaced a whole section of tab.

  
“Well that definitely saves space,” John muttered, reading through them. “How do you know what to write for what?”

  
“I could teach you,” Paul offered. He wondered when his mind thought up that bright idea. He couldn’t tell if he was offering this because he genuinely wanted to help, or because this was his only way to get out of going to the hospital. Probably a bit of both.

  
John looked down at him, going through the offer in his head. He could just kick this kid in the head right now and toss him out the window. Something in his eyes drew him in, and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. The feeling frustrated him, and he wanted to know why. He stuck his hand out to Paul, helping him up to his feet and shaking his hand.

  
“John Lennon,” he spoke softly.

  
“Paul McCartney,” Paul smiled softly back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul come to an agreement. Paul steals for the first time, and also realizes he's feeling things.  
This chapter is a little shorter in prep for next chapter :))))))

“John! You here already?”

The voice pulled them from their brief trance. John took a few steps away from Paul, eyeing him before calling back.

“Aye I’m here. We had a surprise guest.”

“Who?”

“Come see for yerself.”

One of the boys from yesterday came flying up the stairs. As soon as he laid eyes on Paul, his gaze darkened. Without hesitating, he started for him. John put his arm out, holding him back.

“Calm down, Stu. He’s gonna be with us from now on.”

“_What?!_” The boy named Stu exclaimed, taking a step back and looking at John. “This is a joke, right?”

“Afraid not, sonny,” John shrugged. “He insisted.”

“How the hell are we gonna look with some pretty choir boy in our midst?” Stu hissed, his gaze locking on Paul. Paul could feel the genuine rage flowing out of Stu like lava. Normally in this situation, he would be afraid of getting punched. But John was protecting him, and the boys knew better than to go against him.

“We’ll fix him up, don’t you worry,” John glanced back at Paul and winked.

Paul was surprised at this sudden change in him. Just a few minutes ago, John was ready to tear his throat out. He was a loose canon with a mood that could change with a snap.

“What made him so insistent on joining? I thought we kicked his ass yesterday?” Stu asked, glancing at Paul’s still purple eye.

“I’m helping him with his-“ Paul started.

“He’s gonna get us beer so he can have his guitar back,” John quickly interrupted. “Figured it’ll be like him paying a loan.”

“Ah, alright…” Stu seemed to calm down a bit, but his eyes were still on fire when he looked between them. “But I don’t trust him. I’ll wait for the guys downstairs.”

And with that, Stu went back downstairs. John let out a sigh of relief, walking back over to Paul and gripping his shirt collar.

“No talking about music around the others, got it?” John’s voice was hushed but direct. “They don’t know about it.”

“Why not?” Paul questioned. John let go of his shirt and started picking up the papers scattered across the floor. Paul quickly followed behind and helped.

“They don’t understand it,” John began, stacking the papers up. “They think of it as something only posh kids do, and that it’s just noise and random words mixed together when its-“

“A feeling,” Paul finished for him. John looked back at him and nodded. “It’s heartfelt, and the sounds tell a story.”

“Right,” John shrugged, tucking the paper back into the cabinet. “But they don’t see it that way. They have an image painted of me that keeps me where I am; respected. We can talk about it when we’re alone, but not with others around. Capisce?”

Paul nodded, handing John the papers he picked up. John put them away and closed the cabinet.

“I’m guessing they don’t know about the stuff in here either, do they?” Paul asked. John nodded, meeting his gaze. He paused, looking around Paul’s face.

“Sorry 'bout the shiner. You look way prettier without it,” John remarked, getting to his feet and heading to the stairs. Paul felt a flush wash over his face and muttered, following him. He knew he said it just to bother him.

Downstairs the other three boys were talking with Stu. All four watched John and Paul join them, and by their lack of extreme reaction akin to Stu, Paul guessed they were informed. Suddenly the air around John changed.

“Alright, pixie boy, here’s what you’ll do,” John started, side-eyeing him. “Go to the drug store downtown and steal us a 12 pack. Then you’ll be in the group for good.”

“Steal a 12 pack?” Paul’s eyes went wide. He had heard John’s lie but didn’t think he’d really make him do it.

“Do ya want your guitar back or not?” John asked, raising a brow. Paul stared back at him, trying to read his eyes for any hint of help. He could tell John noticed, because as soon as he did, an invisible wall was raised behind John’s eyes. Paul could tell this was something he was used to, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity in his chest.

“Fine,” Paul sighed, heading for the door.

“And get it here by tonight,” John called after him, “or we’ll come find ya and smash your guitar over your arse.”

“This is just a game, right?” One of the boys asked after Paul left. “He isn’t really hangin’ with us, right?”

“If he can do this, he’s in,” John stated, giving them all a warning look. “Anyone can be changed.”

“D’ya really think he’ll change, though?” Another boy asked. “He seems way too…”

“Posh?”

“Formal?”

“Like he’s got a stick up his arse?”

They all laughed, each pulling out a cigarette if they weren’t smoking one already.

“No, he’ll change,” John said knowingly, lighting his cig. “There’s a fire in him waiting to be let out.”

_

Paul only just remembered his promise he had made to Mike that morning. If he stopped home now, he wouldn’t be able to leave again without being interrogated. He would just have to say that it went on longer than he thought, which wasn’t a total lie. He made his way to the drug store on the other side of town. He didn’t need the people at the drug store close to his house causing trouble with his father.

When he walked into the drug store, he greeted the cashier warmly. Making his way to the back, he pulled his jacket collar a bit higher over his face. Suddenly ambition washed over him. He knew the other guys would never fully accept him. He was a choir boy, after all. Paul would just have to make them shit their pants at the things he could do. He smiled to himself at the image of Stu and the others staring slack-jawed at him we he returned with much more than a 12 pack of beer.

He pulled 3 cases out, tucking one under his arm and carrying the other two by the handles. He looked around a bit more before spotting a box of candy cigarettes. He grabbed those, too. He glanced around the corner, noting that as he stood there, the cashier couldn’t see him. He found the restroom door and knocked before walking inside and locking it behind him. He had only been to this store a few times but knew that _this_ store was the one in town stupid enough to have a window in the loo. Paul climbed onto the toilet and reached up, unlocking the window and pulling it open. He picked up one case of beer and slid his upper body through the window, reaching down so that the cases only fell a few inches to the concrete. He did the same for the other two, then pulled himself through, closing the window behind him. Looking around, he spotted the exit of the alley. He tucked one case under his jacket in the crook of his arm and carried the other two at his sides.

_That seemed way too easy…_ Paul thought, making one last glance up at the window before rushing out of the alley and back to John.

_

“Y’hear that?” Stu whispered, hearing footsteps outside. All five boys froze in place before relaxing as they saw Paul. Stu’s jaw dropped.

Paul let go of the two cases in his hands before pulling out the third, dropping it in front of him. He placed his hands on his hips, raising a brow.

“Here’s your fucking beer.”

They all stared at him, and Paul met John’s gaze. John flashed him a grin.

“See? I told you boys he was one of us.”

“How the bloody hell did you do that?” A boy exclaimed.

“Probably went home and took them from his dad,” Stu growled, his frustration flying off him in droves. John smacked the back of his head.

“He’s not that much of a bitch, Stu.”

“No, I’m not,” Paul replied, walking to him. He pulled out the pack of candy cigarettes from his pocket and threw it into Stu’s chest. Their eyes met, and Paul couldn’t hold back his grin. He felt the bomb ticking in Stu’s head, but he wasn’t worried anymore. John was on his side, and because of that he was untouchable.

John put his hand on Paul’s shoulder and shook him gently. “Atta boy, pixie.” Paul looked back at him, a burst of pride rupturing in his chest. Something about this guy lit a fire in him. He wanted to impress him; blow his expectations away. He had no idea why. Something twisted in his chest, a feeling that was familiar to him but not common. He swore at himself in his head. Surely John wasn’t like that.

_

“I know, Mikey, I’m sorry. It just went way longer than I thought it would.”

Paul sat next to his brother on the couch, each holding a fresh cup of tea, their dad working on dinner in the kitchen.

“It’s okay… Did everything go well? I thought you said you weren’t really friends with any of the choir kids,” Mike asked.

“It went better than I thought it would,” Paul smiled. “I think we hit it off pretty well.”

“Boys! Come get dinner,” Jim called.

“I’ll get it for you,” Paul ruffled Mike’s hair before walking into the kitchen, fixing both of their plates.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood today,” Jim commented, glancing at him.

“Had a pretty good day, can’t complain,” Paul replied, meeting his gaze.

“You meet someone?”

“You could say that…”

“What’s her name?”

Paul paused. _Fuck._

“Uh… Jane. Her name’s Jane.”

Jim nodded, grabbing his cup of tea and newspaper.

“It looks like your eye is already healing pretty well. Only a few more days of purple, I’m guessing,” his father smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder before leaving the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing super explicit happens this chapter, but it gets a little steamy. Also some soft stuff :)

A few weeks had passed since the beer escapade. Mike started coming with Paul to choir rehearsals, and they worked out a deal that Paul would give him money for ice cream if he went straight home while Paul escaped to John and the others. Their father came home from work a few hours after rehearsal ended, so it appeared normal that Mike was home and Paul seemingly went back out with friends, or “Jane.” Paul created an entire person for his father to believe he was seeing, which Jim believed. He planned to tell him that they split if Jim ever asked to meet her. It seemed flawless.

Paul would change out of his church uniform before meeting up with the guys, and every now and then would steal beer and whatever else they wanted from the drug store. He was slowly but surely being accepted by everyone in the group but Stu, which he wasn’t surprised by. Paul could see Stu’s jealousy written on his face with how much more attention John was giving Paul. And every night, Paul would sneak out and meet John back in the old house. Paul taught him how to write chords, what each label meant, and how to play around with improvising. Each night they grew closer, and Paul noticed just how different John was when they were alone. In front of the other guys he put up a front; he was a tough prick who knew all the tricks to getting extra cigs, alleyways that led to huge clubs, and whatever he said you did. When they weren’t around, he was a much more vulnerable, gentle soul. Paul learned about his parents splitting up and having to stay with his Aunt, as well as his troubles in school. John started writing about emotional things for songs, and Paul started writing about someone who was occupying his everyday thoughts. They never sang in front of each other, though. The most they would do is hum the right notes while the other played.

“You’re catching onto this life pretty well,” John remarked. He was laying on his back, a cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth while Paul quietly strummed his guitar, his eyes locked on the sheet of paper in front of him.

“What makes you say that?” Paul asked, not looking up.

“For starters you can steal every other day like it’s as normal for you as going to church,” John laughed, nudging Paul’s leg with his knee. Paul laughed with him.

“Yeah, it’s surprisingly easier than I thought it would be,” Paul sighed. “Must be my secret calling.”

“And for someone who hasn’t drank much of anythin’ till you met us, you can hold more beers than Stu,” John sat up, watching him play.

Paul shrugged. “I guess I’m not as much of a lightweight as you thought, eh?”

“Guess not,” John chuckled, taking a drag off his cigarette before offering it to Paul. Paul stopped playing and glanced at it before looking up at John.

“I know you don’t smoke, but you ought to,” John smiled lightly. “Helps with the stress.”

Paul looked back down. “I-I don’t know…”

“And the guys think you’re too pussy to do it,” John added, raising a brow. Without a second to spare, Paul took the cigarette from John’s hand. He looked at it before gently placing it on his lips and taking a small drag. He immediately started coughing, making John snort and pull out another cigarette for himself.

“That tastes about as good as I expected it would,” Paul grimaced.

“It ain’t lit anymore, son,” John replied, getting out his lighter. “Lean over.”

Paul set his guitar down and leaned in toward him. John flicked the lighter on and moved in close, using his hand to protect the flame from the breeze and holding it at the end of Paul’s cig. They caught each other’s eye, both staring. Something fluttered in Paul’s stomach, something that he had been training himself to shove down and mute for the last few weeks. He stomped on it again, but this time, it didn’t go down so easy.

“Better?” John asked quietly.

“Yeah…” Paul replied, half to himself, taking another drag off it. He coughed again, but his lungs were starting to get used to it. It was only good for a few more hits before it was nothing but a butt. He tossed it toward his feet and stepped on it with his heel.

Paul picked the guitar back up, idly strumming a few chords that beckoned him in his head. He started to hum a melody as he played. He had been working on a song before he met John and was never able to finish it. There was always something missing that made him feel stuck. After the last few weeks, though, he was able to find the words. He sang them in his head while humming the notes, sliding to each chord change with ease.

“Sounds like you’ve got a song in yer head,” John spoke after a few moments of listening.

“I’ve been working on something for a while,” Paul replied, a small smile growing on his face. There were a seconds of silence before John spoke again.

“Start at the beginning again, and sing it this time,” John looked up at him, and Paul met his gaze with wide eyes. The feeling that fluttered in his stomach before was replaced with nerves that felt like they would choke the life out of him. He swallowed, positioning for the first chord of the song, and began to play.

_Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you_

_Tomorrow I’ll miss you_

_Remember I’ll always be true_

Paul’s voice was a bit shaky as he started, but eventually he grew more comfortable and steadied his breathing.

_And then while I’m away_

_I’ll write home every day_

_And I’ll send all my loving to you_

As he played, he felt John’s eyes on him. The nervousness he felt before was replaced with his need to impress, powering him through the rest of the song. When he finished, he closed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’ve got a lovely voice,” John spoke softly. “Much prettier than mine.”

“I doubt it,” Paul laughed. John smiled.

“Need another cig?” He asked, his eyes still locked on him, and Paul could feel it. It felt like his eyes were burning into his skin.

“Yeah, if you’ve got another,” Paul met his gaze, smiling softly.

“One sec,” John nodded, reaching up and lighting the new cig he was holding in his mouth. As soon as it was lit, John took a long drag before reaching his hand behind Paul’s neck and pulling him close. Paul’s eyes grew wide as John grabbed his chin gently, forcing his mouth open and slowly blowing the smoke inside. Paul made a little gasp, his eyelids fluttering closed. Their lips were just barely brushing across each other, making the flutter in Paul’s stomach explode into a hive. He pulled his eyes open to see John looking at him. He had a look in his eyes, as though he were daring Paul to do something. Without thinking, Paul grabbed the front of John’s shirt and pulled him closer, crashing their lips together. A grin tore across John’s face as he tossed his lighter to the side, slowly pushing Paul down onto his back. John slid his tongue into his mouth, gliding his hands under Paul’s shirt and up his sides. Paul let out a shaky breath, tangling his fingers in John’s hair. After a while John pulled away, looking down at him.

“Ya really do look prettier without the big shiner,” he grinned, and Paul shoved him playfully.

_

John walked Paul home, the streetlights shining just bright enough for them to see. Paul shut the gate behind them quietly, walking to the side of the house that his window was on. He had found a small area for him to climb up and down when he snuck out. His father would never let him go out this late.

“Aw, little Paulie sneaks out to come and see me?” John sneered in a high-pitched voice, keeping quiet.

“’Little’? You’re not that much older than me,” Paul glared, clearing some of the bushes away.

“A year at least. That’s enough, sonny,” John remarked. He took Paul’s hand and pulled him close, kissing him softly. Paul’s eyelids fluttered closed as he kissed him back, relishing in the blissful moment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Paul whispered when they finally separated. John winked and made his way back to the gate, opening and closing it behind him. Paul climbed up the wall and opened his window, pulling himself inside. He let out a shaky sigh, tossing his guitar aside and sitting on the edge of his bed. His mind was still spiraling from earlier. As he laid in bed, his mind wandered to waking up next to John, brushing the hair out of his face and kissing him awake. Paul shook his head, closing his eyes. The most they did tonight was make out. And if his father ever caught John waking up here, there would be hell to pay. He decided to just think about what happened that night, and what might happen tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets heavy. John doesn't really know how to handle his feelings.

“When are you going to bring Jane home so I can meet her?”

_Sorry, dad, she’s not real, _is what Paul wanted to say. Instead, he kept his eyes on his plate, turning an egg over.

“We split a few days ago,” Paul sighed, trying his best to play it off. He didn’t dare to look up.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Jim replied, still reading his newspaper. “There’s always another one out there.”

Paul just nodded, attempting to slam down his tea to escape this conversation. He caught Mike’s eye watching him, and he glared back before standing with his plate.

“Well, we’d better go, or we’ll be late,” Paul mumbled, bringing it to the sink. He grabbed his guitar case from where it lay on the couch and slung the strap over his shoulder. Mike emptied his dishes into the sink and was quick behind him as Paul headed for the door.

“Don’t stay out too late tonight, James,” Jim called. “We’re having company over.”

“Yessir,” Paul sighed and closed the door behind them.

They were silent on their way to the church, which Paul appreciated. He really didn’t need Mike asking questions.

“Paul, are you gay?”

_So much for that._

Paul’s hand instinctively smacked Mike’s shoulder, turning to him.

“Do you really have to talk so loud?”

“Sorry…” Mike lowered his voice. “Are you?”

Paul ran a hand back through his hair, contemplating his options. Over the past month they had grown closer due to their effective sneaking around their father, but he didn’t know if they were close enough to tell him _this_.

“Why are you even asking me that?”

“At the table,” Mike remarked, “it looked like you were hiding something. If dad had looked at you instead of his newspaper, he would have seen it too. You’re not really the best actor.”

“So what? Maybe I’m just hiding the fact that Jane and I are still together, so she doesn’t have to meet him,” Paul questioned, raising a brow. They continued making their way to church. “He tends to get a bit attached to anyone I bring home.”

“But you’ve always acted a certain way around girls,” Mike replied, looking into the trees that they passed thoughtfully. “You always acted more like a friend to them than anything else.”

“How long have you been making that observation?”

“Since mom passed.”

Paul slowed to a stop, looking at him. “What?”

“Ever since we lost mom, you’ve acted the same way with every girl you were with,” Mike explained, meeting his gaze. “I wanted to bring it up, but I didn’t know anything about girls. I still don’t, really.”

Paul searched Mike’s eyes. He could tell he was asking out of pure curiosity; not like he was trying to dig up one of his secrets. Mike’s demeanor gave off his pure indifference to Paul’s answer, so he gave in.

“Yes, Mikey, I am,” Paul gave a defeated sigh. “Happy?”

A smile lit up Mike’s face. “I always knew you were. You look too much like a bird, and you don’t like touching dirty shit.”

Paul flicked his ear, smiling back. “You’re lucky dad ain’t around to hear you say that.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Nope… You’re the only one,” Paul said quietly, looking down at his feet as they walked. “Wouldn’t want to risk anything.”

Mike nodded, trying his best to keep up with Paul’s walking pace. “Don’t worry, it’s safe with me.”

Paul couldn’t help but smile. Why did he question telling Mike in the first place?

_

As choir rehearsal ended, Paul shoved some money into Mike’s pocket.

“I put some extra in there just incase you want to get anything else,” Paul smiled, ruffling his hair. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

“Wait,” Mike’s eyes grew wide, looking like his entire world just expanded. “Do you have a _boyfriend_? Is that who you’ve been meeting with all the time?!”

Paul quickly clamped his hand over Mike’s mouth. “_No_, Mikey. Now go home,” He gave him a shove before walking down the familiar path that curves around the side of the church. His foot placement was as habit as breathing as he slid through the buildings, stepping over an all too familiar pile of glass and walking in the front door.

“John?” Paul called, expecting to hear the reply come from the second floor; that was where John usually waited.

But he heard no response. Puzzled, Paul walked up the staircase and looked around. Nobody.

“Huh,” Paul said to himself. He noticed the papers from the night before still scattered across the floor. He started gathering them into a pile, humming softly. As he swept up another piece of paper, a glint of light caught his eye. John’s lighter was lying on the floor, holding another sheet down. Paul picked it up carefully and looked over it. His hand immediately began to tingle, memories from last night flashing across his eyes. He slid the lighter into his pocket and gathered the rest of the papers, tucking them away safely into the cupboard. As soon as he closed it, he heard footsteps downstairs. Unsure of who it was, he made some noise to signal he was there.

“Whose here?” Stu’s voice rang up the walls. Disappointment hit Paul like a truck.

“It’s me,” Paul called down, and the lack of response gave away Stu’s apparent disappointment as well. Paul set his guitar on top of the cupboard before making his way downstairs. They locked eyes.

“Hey, Stu,” Paul spoke in as nice of a tone as possible. He wanted to be friends with him; really, he did. Stu just made it extremely hard to be likeable.

“Hey,” Stu sighed, lighting a cigarette for himself before offering one to Paul. “John told me you smoke now.”

Paul took it, caught off-guard. “Yeah… Not fully used to it, though.”

Stu laughed. “That’s how everyone feels when they first start. You’ll get there.”

Paul smiled. Perhaps they could become friends after all. He pulled John’s lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette, which immediately caught Stu’s eye.

“Hey, isn’t that John’s lighter?”

Remembering Mike’s comment earlier, Paul tried even harder to sell innocence.

“Oh, is it? I found it upstairs when I got here, he must have left it.”

Stu nodded. “Probably.”

Relief washed over Paul. _Fuck you, Mikey, I can act._

Two more guys walked through the front door; Mitch and Denny. The past month of hanging around them gave Paul a glimpse of who they were. Mitch and Denny always showed up and left with each other. John told him that when Denny was young, both of his parents were shot in a robbery, and Mitch’s parents took him in as one of their own. They were brothers in their own rite.

“Aye Stu, Paul,” Mitch nodded to them as they walked in.

“Spare us a cig, Stu?” Denny pleaded, clasping his hands together and batting his eyelashes at him. Stu rolled his eyes and handed them both one.

“Johnny not here yet?” Mitch asked, lighting the cigarette.

“Nah, Paul was the first one here today,” Stu replied. Mitch and Denny both looked at Paul.

“Did ya kill him?” Denny whispered.

“Absolutely. Had to assert my dominance,” Paul sneered, making them both laugh.

“Right, cause Paulie has dominance,” Mitch shoved him playfully, and Paul rolled his eyes. He knew the constant jabs at his appearance were jokes and going along with them was the best way to keep them as jokes.

“D’you know what the plan today is, Stu?” Denny asked, stomping out his cigarette butt.

“John said something about sneaking into a club, but I’m not sure,” Stu replied, tossing his cigarette into the old fire pile. A spark of something went through Paul’s head. When did Stu talk to John? John hadn’t even been here yet today. Did they talk last night? How else would John have told Stu that Paul had started smoking? Did he tell Stu _everything _about last night? Paul swallowed, taking one last, shaky drag off his cigarette before throwing it near Stu’s. He wouldn’t have told him, would he? Was that why Stu was suddenly being so nice to him?

“Well he’d better hurry up and get here, I’m itchin’ to grab a tit or two,” Denny rubbed his hands together, issuing a shove from Mitch. “I’m just jokin’!”

They all turned to look as they heard footsteps near the door, but they all sighed as Owen walked in. John had told Paul that Owen was raised in a very wealthy family, but a scandal in the press tore their family’s name apart, taking their riches away in the blink of an eye. Although he was raised to be snooty, Owen was a very soft-spoken and warm individual. He usually ended up being the guy to calm a situation.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Owen remarked, raising a brow at them. “Expecting someone else?”

“John ain’t here yet,” Stu replied. “Everyone might as well relax while we wait.”

Mitch and Denny broke off into their own conversation, and Stu walked over to talk to Owen. Paul headed back upstairs, trying to suppress his coughing until he was out of sight. He pulled John’s lighter out of his pocket, looking over it again. There were small grooves where John routinely held his fingers, showing its age. At the bottom, two letters were etched in:

_A.L._

“Hey.”

Paul nearly jumped out of his skin as he was brought out of his mind, turning to meet the gaze of Stu who was standing at the top of the stairs. Paul quickly shook his head, tucking the lighter away.

“Yeah?”

“I gotta ask you somethin’,” Stu spoke softly, making his way closer. “Is something happening between you and John?”

Paul heard glass shatter in his mind. Careful to keep his composure, he laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Stu narrowed his eyes, raising a brow.

“I assure you, I really don’t,” Paul replied, raising his chin. “What could be happening with us?”

“John has been my best friend since we were born. I know all of his secrets,” Stu’s voice was just above a whisper, “and I know you aren’t the most conventional of blokes.”

“What about it?” Paul hissed, taking a step toward him. He learned how to kick the shit out of somebody this month, and he wasn’t afraid to test his knowledge out on Stu.

Stu raised his hands up in surrender. “Listen, I have no problem with it. No need to get defensive.”

Paul relaxed a little, eyeing him. When he didn’t speak, Stu continued.

“Let’s just say I’ve noticed things. The other guys are braindead so I’m sure they have no idea,” Stu explained. “John won’t give me a sure answer, so I wanted to ask you.”

“Why does it matter to you?” Paul retorted. He didn’t mean to be this hostile, he just wasn’t prepared to have his secret found out by _one_ person today, let alone two.

“Listen, mate, just relax,” Stu stepped closer, trying his best to relay how sincere he was. “I just want to know who my best mate is seeing, alright? We tell each other everything, and this is the first time he’s kept a secret from me…”

Paul forced himself to relax. He could tell Stu was coming from a good place, and now that he was aware, Paul couldn’t risk being on his bad side.

“Look, I don’t know what we are,” Paul sighed. “What I think it is and what he thinks it is could be completely different. We haven’t really talked about it.”

“Alright, I hear you,” Stu nodded, placing his hands on Paul’s shoulders. “I want to get along. At first, I thought you were replacing me and was real pissed about it. But now I see it’s something else.”

Paul looked up at him, overjoyed that this situation was working out so well. He was prepared for anyone who found out about him to beat the shit out of him and scorn his life, but today he had only good experiences with those who found out. Maybe he was a bit paranoid.

“I want to get along too, Stu,” Paul replied. “I feel like everything would be much more fun that way.”

Stu smiled. “Me too, mate.” They both went silent as they heard the front door slammed in.

“Sorry for being late, fuckers.”

Paul and Stu looked at each other before racing downstairs. John stood between Owen and Mitch, a cigarette hanging in his mouth. He looked up to see Paul and Stu, a grin warming up his face.

“You two having a heart to heart?” John asked. The two glanced at each other before looking back at John.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Stu remarked, giving Paul a playful shove. Paul laughed and shoved him back. Something lit in John’s eyes that Paul had never seen before; he looked ecstatic.

“Alright, boys, we’re having ourselves an adventure tonight,” John started. They all crowded in closer. “We’re sneaking into the Cavern tonight.”

“_What?!_” All five of them exclaimed. John grinned.

“I know a guy whose gonna let us into the back where only the rich people get in.”

“Holy shit,” Stu’s eyes were wide. “What do we do?”

“The only thing we gotta do is walk in,” John met his gaze. “He’ll spot us, then lead us back.”

“Who is this guy?” Paul asked, a bit wary. John could sense his unease.

“He’s someone I met a while back. He owes me,” John assured. Paul smiled softly but was soon filled with dread. He groaned aloud.

“Shit, I’m supposed to be home early tonight,” Paul grumbled, running his hand back through his hair. “Dad’s having company over.”

“Drop in for a few minutes, then sneak out when the commotion is high,” John suggested. “He’ll never know you left.”

Paul tossed the thought back and forth in his head before nodding. “Alright. Where are we meeting?”

“Meet in front of the old apartment building across from the church,” John looked to each of them. “From there, we only have a few minutes of walking.”

They all nodded. Mitch and Denny ran out the door with Owen trailing behind. Stu started after them before pausing, turning to look at John and Paul. He gave Paul a knowing nod, then followed the others out. The two stood there for a few seconds in silence.

“You left this here last night,” Paul said softly, handing him the lighter. John’s eyes grew wide and quickly took it.

“I was wondering where I dropped it,” John let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Paul smiled. “Are you sure this guy is legit? He’s not leading us to get our asses kicked, right?”

“Don’t worry about it,” John laughed, stepping closer to him. He took Paul’s hand gently with his. “It’ll be fine, and we’re gonna tear up that club.”

A soft flush spread across Paul’s face. He looked at him seriously. “Stu knows…”

“Oh…” John looked alarmed before lowering his head. “I knew this was gonna happen.”

Paul’s heart sank a bit. _Knew what was gonna happen?_

Suddenly the air around John grew cold as he looked up at Paul.

“This entire thing was a joke,” John said, his eyes dark. Paul took a step back. “Stu and I were placing bets on how fast I could get you to show your gay ass.”

Paul’s mind crashed. He couldn’t get himself to move. The walls felt like they were crumbling around him. What the fuck was he saying?

“Do you understand, son? _It was a joke_. You really thought I was into you?” John laughed a laugh so cold it caused Paul to shutter. “I’m a better actor than I thought.”

“You’re lying…” Paul whispered, looking up at him. “That’s not true…”

“Oh it’s true, babyface. I’m not a fucking poof. I’m not stupid,” John hissed, his eyes menacing. “We assumed you were but didn’t know for sure, so I took the bullet to find out.”

“Fuck you,” Paul struggled to keep himself from shouting. He pushed his way to the front door.

“Don’t think about not showing up tonight, pixie,” John called after him. Paul stopped in his tracks. “If you don’t show up, you’ll need to make sure they’ve got a bed for you at the hospital.”

Paul’s hands were clenched so tightly he could feel the blood starting to run down his palms. He glared back at him one last time before walking out, making his way to the road. He struggled to keep the tears at bay, wiping them away quickly as they threatened to roll down his face. When he made it to the church, he swore to himself as he realized he left his guitar there, too. Now he _really_ had to show up.

“Hey, Paul,” Mike piped up as Paul walked into their home. “How was-“

“Not right now, Mike.” Paul quickly cut him off, working hard to keep his voice from shaking as he stormed up the stairs and closed the door to his room behind him. He collapsed on the bed and covered his face in his hands, cursing himself over and over. How could he be so stupid? He had been so naïve and hopeful that something like this would work out when deep down he knew it never would. He had been so excited that Stu wanted to try to become friends that he didn’t question his motives further. He had built barriers and protection for so long to keep this from happening, and he fucked up. Paul couldn’t hold back his sobs any longer and crumbled to the floor, his body on fire with shame and anger. All he had to do was show up to this stupid club tonight and it would be over. He would take his guitar back and never go to that decrepit house ever again.

_Fuck._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys storm the club, and Paul learns the truth  
[THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A BRIEF NON-CON SCENE, NOT EXPLICIT]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FEEL SO BAD THAT I POSTED LAST CHAPTER OF JOHN BEING A DICK ON HIS BIRTHDAY IT COMPLETELY SLIPPED MY MIND AAAAHH  
This is also most likely the last chapter! I hit on everything else I wanted to cover in this chapter and think this is a good way to end it. Thank you so much for all of the positivity!! I'm excited to write more in the future :)))

The company that Jim McCartney had over were a few people from his work and their wives. Paul had put on a brave face and mingled for a while, using John’s plan to sneak out within the next hour. The entire time, Mike was watching him. They hadn’t talked since Paul came home, and Paul wanted to keep it that way. They could talk about it when he got back tonight.

“Yes, he was just recently seeing a girl, but they apparently split a few days ago,” Jim spoke with his colleague, glancing over at Paul. Paul felt his gaze but acted like he didn’t hear him, continuing a conversation with someone else. After listening to them drone on about something work related, Paul excused himself and headed up to his room, closing the door. He let out a relieved sigh. Most of his father’s coworkers had known Paul since he was born, and every time they visited, they descended on him with questions about the future. It was exhausting.

Paul pulled his jacket on and thought about what might happen at the club. Although John had tried to reassure him, he was still nervous. And at this point, he didn’t believe anything John said. He took a moment to calm himself before walking over to his window. As soon as he opened it there was a knock at his door. Paul closed the window and threw the jacket off, thinking it was his dad and opened the door. Mike stood in front of him, his eyes clouded with worry. Paul sighed.

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry about it. I have to go finish something,” Paul said bluntly, pulling his jacket back on.

“What happened today? You looked all upset-“ Mike started, but Paul quickly held his hand up.

“Mike, I will tell you when I get back, alright? I can’t talk about it right now,” Paul looked at him, desperate for him to understand. “I need you to tell dad I was feeling sick and came to my room to rest. Can you do that?”

Mike nodded, twiddling his thumbs together. Paul could see he was still worried but was thinking twice about trying to ask again. He walked over and crouched in front of him, so they were eye level.

“I’m fine, I promise,” Paul smiled, resting his hands on Mike’s shoulders. “Like I said, I’ll tell you what happened when I’m home okay?”

Mike hesitated before nodding. “Okay… Don’t be gone too long, or dad will try to check on you.”

Paul nodded back, pulling Mike in for a hug before standing back up, walking to the window and opening it. Mike shut the door to his room and ran back downstairs to the guests.

_

“Hey, Paul,” Stu greeted him as he walked over. Stu and Paul were the first ones at the meet up spot. Paul was immediately flooded with anger.

“Why the fuck didn’t you just tell me the truth?” Paul spat, stopping inches away from him. His entire body hurt from his heart being crushed.

Stu’s eyes grew wide. “What’re you talking about?”

“John told me about this entire thing being a joke, and that you both were placing bets on how long it took me to ‘show my gay ass,’” Paul was fuming. “How he ‘took the bullet’ by pretending to come onto me.”

The reaction he got was not what Paul expected. Stu had started pacing, cursing at John quietly under his breath before stopping in front of Paul again.

“Paul, that isn’t true,” Stu was desperate. “This is what happens.”

“_What_ is what happens?” Paul narrowed his eyes.

“John doesn’t like to admit what he feels,” Stu explained. “He doesn’t know how to deal with them, so he tries to push everyone away. He has done this over and over again, _dammit _John!”

Stu began pacing again, lighting a new cigarette. “You found yourself someone _perfect_ for you and you _blew_ it!”

“Stu, I don’t understand…” Paul’s anger had faded and was replaced with genuine confusion. Stu stopped and looked at him.

“Paul, this was not a ‘joke.’ We did not ‘place bets.’ I didn’t even know what was going on until recently, which was why I asked you earlier,” Stu spoke calmly. “John _likes you_, a lot, and he doesn’t know how to handle it. So instead of pursuing his feelings, he’s trying to push you away and ignore them.”

“But why?” Paul whispered, his mind whirling.

“Because he knows that there are many people who would kick his ass if they found out he was into blokes. Hell, some people _kill_ people because of it,” Stu replied. “He’s trying to ignore his feelings so he doesn’t have to worry about it. He probably doesn’t want someone to kill you, either.”

Footsteps cut him off and they both looked up to see John with Mitch, Denny, and Owen. John eyed them suspiciously.

“You’re here early, fellas.”

“Or you’re just late,” Stu shot back. There were a few seconds of silence between them, and Paul watched them have an entire conversation with their eyes. John looked panicked for a moment before shaking it away.

“Well, let’s go then.”

All 6 of them walked toward the club. Stu and Paul trailed in the back, keeping the three other guys between them and John.

“You’re not fuckin’ with me?” Paul whispered. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” Stu whispered back. “I may be a prick, but I’m not _that_ much of a prick.”

As they approached the club, tons of people crowded the entrance. John led them through, slipping past the bouncers who were preoccupied with breaking up a fight. When they entered, Paul’s senses were overloaded.

Music bounced off the walls, smoke hung thick in the air, and alcohol covered every corner. People laughing and screaming to be heard over the music made Paul’s brain shake. _Holy shit._

“John!”

A faint voice soared over the crowd, catching John’s attention. He slid toward it, the others close behind, and he stopped in front of a tall, scrawny man with a thick beard. He was obviously drunk, and something about him made Paul uncomfortable.

“Alright, mate, show us the way,” John yelled, and the unknown man led them through a curtain. They turned a few corners until they were led into a quieter room, lined with people dressed in nicer clothes, holding small champagne glasses and talking amongst themselves. Immediately, Paul felt terrified.

“Stu,” Paul leaned over and whispered, “something’s not right…”

“I know,” Stu whispered back. “I feel it too.”

They stopped in the middle of the room, and suddenly the attention was locked on them. Every person had stopped talking to look. Paul glanced around before looking behind them and saw three large bouncers blocking the exit.

_Uh oh._

“What’s the deal, mate?” John asked, looking around at everyone staring.

“Did you really think we would just let you in here?” The man asked, cracking his knuckles. “I know someone from your little posse has been stealing from my dad’s store, and you’re gonna tell me who it is.”

Paul’s heart hit the bottom of his stomach.

“Sorry, we don’t sell each other out,” John growled, cracking his knuckles in response. “Looks like you’ll have to go through all of us.”

In the blink of an eye, every person in the room descended on them. John and Stu knocked out a few of the first attackers but were split up by a mountain of people. Mitch, Denny, and Owen tried to keep a tight formation, but they were outnumbered and pulled apart. Paul felt a hand grab the hair on the back of his head and tug him to the ground. Two people held him down by the arms, keeping him in place. The man with the beard looked down at him.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing with a lot like them?” He asked, towering over him. “You really should have stayed home.”

He leaned down and tore Paul’s pants off, grabbing onto his thighs. It felt like his legs were lit on fire, and he kicked out at him to push him away. But his grip was too strong, and the two people holding him put their grip on his legs as well. Paul’s entire body shook, fear paralyzing his mind. The man said something else, but he didn’t hear him. His eyes were glazing over as tears threatened to roll, but he was brought back to reality as a fist cracked against the side of the man’s head, sending him off. The two people holding him were torn away, and his eyes met John’s, who was kneeling in front of him.

“You okay, son?” He asked, and Paul could see that he was trying with the last of his energy to keep his front up; he was close to breaking. Paul only nodded, his tongue caught in his throat, and he realized his body was still shaking. John wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, hugging him so tight Paul almost lost his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry…”

Paul watched Stu and the others quickly gaining on their attackers, forcing some of them to flee as he listened to John. His mind was caught in a fog, and he couldn’t speak back to John even if he wanted to.

“This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t trusted that piece of shit and brought you here,” John continued, pulling back so he could look at him. “Everything I said before was rubbish.”

“What..?” Paul managed to choke out, meeting his gaze.

“When I said it was a joke, it wasn’t. I was trying to protect myself, and it was bloody stupid,” John explained. “I don’t know how to deal with-“

“Your feelings..?” Paul finished for him. John let out a nervous laugh and nodded.

“Yes, and I said horrible, horrible things to you… I can’t expect you to forgive me…”

“John! Need some help over here!” Stu called, being held down by the two bouncers left who were guarding the exit.

John handed Paul his pants. “One moment, love.” He stood and ran back to Stu, tearing one of the bouncers off him.

Paul pulled his pants back on, unable to stand. Although he knew it was over, his mind wouldn’t relax. He still felt like he was in danger. He watched the others knock out the last bouncer, feeling like a helpless child. He should have helped them. Instead he just sat there like a bird in distress.

John walked back over to him, holding his hand out and helping him to his feet. John hugged him again, and Paul hugged him back.

“You two can make up when we get out of here,” Stu whispered, kicking the arm of someone unconscious on the floor. John nodded and led them back to their old building.

Mitch, Denny, and Owen all took the situation light-heartedly. They joked about it before they went home for the night. Paul had gone upstairs to get his guitar and could faintly hear Stu talking to John.

“You need to fix it,” Stu whispered. “This habit of yours needs to stop. Paul is a good kid.”

“I know,” John sighed. “I’m gonna try.”

Paul heard Stu leave, and there was silence before John walked up the stairs. Paul had sat on the ground, barely strumming the guitar. His mind still felt foggy, and he kept thinking about what might have happened if John hadn’t helped when he did. John carefully sat next to him.

“Hey…”

“Hey.”

“Can we talk for a minute?”

Paul stopped playing and set the guitar to the side, turning and facing him. While part of him was happy that everything John said was a lie, another part of him wanted to tear him apart. John looked into his eyes before looking down.

“I’m truly sorry,” John began. “I was afraid of what it would mean for me if I pursued what I felt and was scared. I never should have said those things to you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Paul lost his self-control. “Are you fucking kidding? As someone who _knows _what it’s like to feel like this and be afraid for _anyone_ to know, how did you expect that shit to make me feel?”

“Pretty bad…” John hesitantly looked up at him.

“Yeah, pretty bad,” Paul hissed. “I’ve been _enamored_ by you and terrified to show it, and I finally feel like it’s not one sided just for you to rip me apart instead.”

“It isn’t one sided!” John interjected. “I’m in_ love_ with you!”

Silence grew between them as Paul looked at him with wide eyes.

“What..?”

“I get lost in your eyes every time I look at them,” John continued, “and the way you play and sing gets stuck in my head for hours until I go to sleep and dream of it.”

Paul was at a loss for words, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at him.

“You are a _wonder_, Paul McCartney. You are a _gift_,” John whispered. “You’re an angel brought down to show me who I’m supposed to be.”

“John…”

“_I love you_, and I have since you started teaching me, but I didn’t know what it was. I thought I was going crazy.”

Fireworks exploded in his head as Paul leaned forward and hugged him tightly, burying his face in his shoulder. Tears rolled as he laughed. John hugged him back, not caring about the tears running down his own face. Paul pulled away and kissed him, caressing his face with his hands. John kissed him back, running his fingers through his delicate hair. Paul pulled back gently and looked up at him.

“My name is actually James, by the way. Paul is my middle name,” he said.

John looked at him for a moment. “Paul suits you better.”

They laughed and kissed again, the moonlight framing their silhouettes in the dark room.

_

As soon as John climbed through the window, Paul closed and locked it behind him. The visitors had already left, and the lack of lights in the house told him both his father and brother were asleep.

“You sure this is a good idea, Paulie?” John whispered, sliding his hands down to rest on Paul’s hips. “What if somebody walks in and sees us?”

“_You _were the one who suggested it!” Paul whispered sharply, shoving him a little. John took a few steps back to balance himself and bumped into a table, knocking the box off it. Paul groaned quietly as it smacked the floor, making a noise that was sure to wake at least one person up.

“Whoops,” John blinked. “You pushed me into it.”

“You-“ Paul started but was cut off by a quiet knock. He looked at the door before looking back at John.

“If it’s your dad, I’m dead,” John whispered.

“If it was my dad, he wouldn’t have knocked,” Paul replied and opened the door, revealing a half-asleep Mike standing in his pajamas.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be back late…” Mike yawned, rubbing his eyes.

“Got a little caught up,” Paul shrugged.

“Will you tell me what happened now..?” Mike asked before finally glancing over and noticing John. He started a loud gasp, and Paul was quick to cover his mouth.

“_Shh!_” Paul whispered.

“You’ve never even had a _girl _stay overnight!” Mike whispered back.

“That’s because Paulie’s not into the birds,” John blurted out. Paul elbowed him as Mike laughed.

“I’ll tell you all about what happened tomorrow, okay?” Paul sighed. “I’m sure you wouldn’t even remember it if I told you now.”

“Okay… but you better make sure he leaves early,” Mike said, looking at John. “Dad checked your room while you were gone, and he’s pissed.”

“Great…” Paul muttered, gently shoving Mike towards his room. “Now go back to bed.”

“G’night…” Mike yawned again before shutting the door to his room. Paul closed his own door and let out a sigh of relief. John watched him in amusement, climbing into the bed. Paul got in after him, his face flushing a bit as he met John’s gaze.

“You’d better wake me up with something special tomorrow morning,” John sneered. “I gotta leave early.”

“We’ll see,” Paul grinned, giving him a playful shove. It turned out that his vision of waking up next to John wasn’t so far away after all.


End file.
